


Funny Little Feeling

by JoeLawson



Category: The Losers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Character of Color, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-30
Updated: 2010-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-12 23:37:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoeLawson/pseuds/JoeLawson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Jensen's locked in a cage, Roque is a sucker for the furry, Pooch risks his fingers, Cougar's concussed, and Clay is putting his foot <i>down</i>, damn it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Funny Little Feeling

> _I've got a funny little feeling  
>  My arms are shaking like a lightning rod   
> I'll cannonball right through the ceiling  
> and sink my teeth in till the feeling's gone._
> 
> "Funny Little Feeling" by Rock N Roll Soldiers

 

"I'm sorry, Jensen. I thought you'd gotten your shots."

And that was just... that was the stupidest, most moronic thing anybody had said to Jensen _ever_ and he was going to fucking _kill_ Clay for it, kill him _dead_ , as soon as his nerve endings stopped screaming and he could see straight again. Oh. Wait. Would he still need glasses? Would he be able to _wear_ glasses?

"I hate you," he panted, stuck somewhere between the intense pain of the infection making its way through his body and a panic attack. "You suck."

"In his defense, it is a standard immunization," Pooch piped up from the other side of the cage – the fucking _cage_ , man, he was going to kill them _all_ for this – though he had the decency to look sheepish when Jensen nailed him with a death glare.

"I'm _allergic_ , you shithead!" Jensen bellowed. "It's in my file! It's on my fucking _dog tags_!"

Roque snickered. Actually had the balls to laugh (if somewhat hysterically) at Jensen's misery and Jensen snarled in blind fury at the sound and tried to tackle him for strangling purposes. He slammed against the bars of the cage with so much force the metal groaned and the three Losers outside took a collective step backwards.

"It wouldn't have been an issue if you hadn't broken position," Clay snapped, visibly annoyed by his instinctive reaction. "Cougar's inoculated."

"Against massive blood loss?" Jensen shot back, every bit as vexed as his CO.

Clay scowled, but didn't argue. They all knew the lycanthrope would've done severe damage to Cougar if he'd connected. Cougar hadn't been wearing his vest, needing full range of movement to climb up a rock face and make a near-impossible shot, and BDUs offered precious little protection against a hundred and eighty pounds of crazed wolf. So Jensen had taken the hit, ending up with a fucked-up arm and a little extra in his blood, and Cougar had taken a fall with both Jensen and the lyc on top of him and ended up with a concussion.

"You just stay calm and don't change," Pooch told Jensen, "and you'll be fine. They got the counteragent almost ready."

"I am calm," Jensen yelled. "I'm-" He stopped as a funny little feeling popped up behind his sternum and started to trickle downwards towards his spine. "Uh oh," he muttered. It felt like goose bumps, only on the inside of his skin. Not bad, precisely, but weird. So weird.

"What?" Roque asked, humor gone from his voice. "Jensen? Sit down and breathe. Calm down. Your eyes are changing color."

Jensen obeyed without hesitation, not least because his knees simply gave out. He sat down hard and took a deep breath, but he could tell it was too late. That strange sensation was spreading fast, along his bones, into his muscles, inside out with the inevitability of a rebelling stomach. Only he wasn't about to puke.

"Oh," he whispered, eyes wide but unseeing, and started to shake.

"Oh shit," said Clay, and then it all went to hell.

* * *

Jensen the Wolf had sand-colored fur, huge paws, massive shoulders, and teeth the size of your average jackknife.

He didn't need glasses.

* * *

"Roque, step away from the cage," Clay ordered, not for the first time.

"Come on, Clay." Pooch was inching forward as well, eyes on the pitiful heap of fuzz pressed against the bars of the cage trying to get closer to Roque's fingers. "Look at him. It's _Jensen_. If he was going to go berserk, he would've done so by now."

Clay tried not to look, but there was no evading three pairs of pleading eyes. Jensen looked particularly pathetic with his glasses askew on his long, furry nose, big ears drooping, paws curled up under him like a puppy at the pound. A pony-sized puppy, but still.

Before he knew what he was doing, Clay found himself crouched next to his men in front of the cage, staring at his transformed tech specialist and fighting the urge to stick his own fingers through the bars to pet the newborn lyc. It helped to remember that ninety-five percent of all bite-begotten lycanthropes didn't make it through the experience with their mind intact. Ninety percent got aggressive to the extreme and had to be locked up or put down; the other five spent the rest of their days whimpering in a corner. The only known cure for lycanthropy was to stop the disease before the first change with a counteragent based on the individual's own DNA and they'd missed that chance. Might not have worked anyway, since Jensen was allergic to at least two of the base components.

The bottom line was Jensen was probably going to snap any second now and try to kill them all, so scritching him behind the ears was a stupid thing to do. Didn't stop Roque from doing it, but then Roque was a complete sucker for anything four-legged and furry. Plus, he was obviously feeling guilty for laughing at Jensen earlier.

"Aw," Pooch murmured, and – like an idiot – scratched Jensen's chin. The proximity of his hand to those razor-sharp fangs made Clay break out in cold sweat.

Jensen turned his head and rolled a sea-green eye the better to look at Clay. It was scary how much _Jensen_ remained in that animal gaze, and how easy it was to read. "Oh, no," Clay said, trying to nip this thing in the bud, "you're staying right where you are. You know the stats."

"Come on, Clay." Roque rubbed his knuckles along Jensen's jaw and grinned when Jensen melted into a puddle of sandy fur at the firm touch. "This look like a psycho killer to you?"

It really, really didn't. Then again, Clay had no idea how long it took for madness to set in and what form insanity might take with Jake Jensen. Maybe he was faking it. Playing nice so they'd open the cage for him. It wasn't like he hadn't done this kind of thing before. There was an Iraqi prison guard who could've testified to Jensen's sweet allure if he hadn't been too dead to talk.

"It's Jensen, man," Pooch said, and went to prove it by wiggling his fingers in front of Jensen's muzzle, which was just begging for trouble. Jensen, total bastard that he was, promptly stuck out his tongue and licked him. Pooch grinned triumphantly. "See? Not aggressive. Let's get him out of there."

No way. Clay was putting his foot down on this one. "I don't care if he makes like fucking _Lassie_ ," he barked, "He stays in the fucking cage until the fucking shrink has cleared him for duty!"

Jensen whined.

* * *

This, Jensen decided as he snuck around a corner at Roque's heels, wasn't quite as bad as he'd expected. It had been disorienting at first, but Jensen was nothing if not adaptable. Sure, the sudden flash flood of smells had been a bit much, but he was used to filtering and categorizing huge amounts of data, he could deal. Walking on four legs made for an interesting change of perspective, too, and the lowered center of gravity was like riding a sports car. He couldn't wait to try out running on these babies. As soon as his foreleg had healed up, that was. Fucking rabid lyc, tearing him up like that.

The only drawbacks were the lack of human speech (not that he hadn't tried), the tail which had a freaking life of its own, and the non-retractable claws. The sharp nails clicked against the tiles with every step, betraying his position, so they'd been forced to send out Pooch to scout the best route up to Cougar's room. Wouldn't be long before the doctors came back with their no doubt useless batch of counteragent to find the cage empty and the spec ops team gone, and then there'd be alarms and commotion and lots of yelling. He didn't look forward to it, but no way was he going to wait until they'd done all their tests before he went to see Cougar. Pooch understood; he'd been the first to figure out where Jensen wanted to go and why, probably because he had a mate of his own. Wife. Wife of his own. Not that Cougar was Jensen's wife or anything. Significant other, more like. Partner.

Mate.

Mate, mate, mate. Yes, yes, yes!

"Would you stop wagging your tail, goddamn it?" a deep voice hissed from behind, and Jensen cussed inwardly and tried to obey Clay's command. It took some work, but he managed to tuck the damn thing between his legs. For some reason, that made him feel bad, made his shoulders slump and his head drop. Must've been a sorry sight, because when Roque glanced back and saw Jensen slink after him like that he stopped and glared at Clay.

"Fucking let him wag if he wants to, it's not like he can control it," he rumbled.

"He's going to knock something over," Clay growled back. "We're in deep enough shit as it is; they catch us trying to sneak a transformed lyc into a fucking hospital room, we'll be court-martialed."

Jensen ducked a bit more at his alpha's harsh tone. Clay's harsh tone. Damn it, wolf-think seemed to come with the body. No wonder so many lycs went stark raving mad. Jensen was about to flop onto his back and present his belly to demonstrate his goodwill when his finely tuned ears caught the sound of Pooch whistling a warning and footsteps closing in on their position.

Shit. Nurses.

Jensen looked around wildly, spotted a supply closet down the corridor, and moved fast. Dash forward, open door, snatch Roque's shirt, yank. Clay followed with a muttered blasphemy and pulled the door closed behind them. Just in time, too. A whole group of people walked past their hiding spot as they stood in the darkness, two men and an oversized wolf pressed together like sardines in a can to avoid touching anything. Jensen's leg hurt. Roque smelled excited. He lived for this kind of action. Clay smelled irritated, which seemed to be his default mode. He also smelled faintly aroused, probably because he'd seen the inside of his share of supply closets... and it usually wasn't with his SIC and a werewolf. Jensen would've teased him about it, but unfortunately he _couldn't talk_. Damn it. He wanted his human body back. Or Cougar. Cougar would understand him.

One of Clay's big hands came to rest upon Jensen's head as if Clay had sensed his distress. Not stroking or rubbing, just cupping his skull, and there was something so comforting about it Jensen sat down with a soft _plunk_ and leaned against Clay's leg. He stayed there until the nurses had gone and the coast was clear. Clay earned his undying devotion in those few minutes by letting him huddle close and not saying a single word about it.

* * *

In the end, they didn't make it to Cougar's room, because Cougar found them first. Apparently, he'd woken up and someone had let him know that Corporal Jensen had tested positive for lycanthropy, which had been all the incentive Cougar had needed to crawl out of bed the moment everybody's backs were turned and stagger off towards the basement. They met him in the stairwell, clinging to the banister with a white-knuckled grip and wobbling dangerously anyway, eyes wild and determined.

Jensen was on him before any of the others could utter a warning, whining in distress because Cougar should've been in bed, safe, warm, not a second from taking a header down a flight of concrete stairs because he was out looking for Jensen. Cougar stared at him for a heartbeat or two, eyes going almost comically wide before he flailed and sat down. Jensen pranced anxiously in place, cursing his lack of arms, until Cougar reached out, grabbed a fistful of Jensen's fur, and yanked. Jensen went up against him with a yip, trying to soften the impact with a paw on each side of his mate, then pressed closer instinctively when he got a noseful of Cougar's scent, heavy with grief-relief-need-fear-love. Cougar clung to him, face buried in Jensen's scruff, shaking almost as badly as Jensen himself.

That was how the others found them when they came pelting up the stairs after Jensen. They stopped on the landing beneath the couple and stared. Finally, when Cougar gave no sign of letting go of Jensen anytime soon, Clay cleared his throat.

"Uhm," he said, eloquently. "Is this the part where I don't ask?"

"You- you didn't _know_?" Roque yelped, his voice rising in disbelief. "Seriously?"

Clay folded his arms across his chest, immediately defensive. "They were discreet."

Pooch snorted. "They really weren't."

"Well, they should've been," Clay declared. "What if I'd found out?"

Which was when the alarms went off with a wail. Figured.

 

**Epilogue:**

Five reasons why Jensen hated being a lycanthrope:

 **1.** Bad puns everywhere, and every mention of "dog tags" still made Roque cackle like a hag.

 **2.** Territoriality. Because it was bad enough that he piss-marked their barracks and camps. The howling was going to get him killed one day.

 **3.** The average attention span of a lycanthrope only barely topped that of a gnat. Fuck Pooch and his squeaky toys.

 **4.** Hunting instincts were a hazard sometimes. To date, Jensen had "fetched" three grenades, a dozen of Roque's knives, two sticks of dynamite, and a VW beetle. Don't ask.

 **5.** Pack hierarchy. Human Jensen had been able to backtalk Clay and not bat an eye. Lyc Jensen rolled over like a bitch every time Clay growled at him. Clay loved it. Jensen didn't. Neither did Cougar.

 

Five reasons why Jensen loved being a lycanthrope:

 **1.** Heightened senses. It was the wet dream of every communications specialist. Best early warning system on the planet, too, and he could follow a trail better than any stupid bloodhound.

 **2.** The element of surprise. Jensen was never, ever unarmed anymore. Strip him buck naked and toss him into a hole, and he'd change, jump out again, and butcher you with forty-two seriously wicked fangs.

 **3.** Wolf speed and endurance. Jesus Christ, could he run. Fast like the wind and forever and ever.

 **4.** Permanency. As a first-rate hacker, Jensen had been a military asset, always in danger of being redeployed to where he was needed most. As a fully functional lycanthrope, Jensen's worth had quadrupled, but lycanthropes were also notoriously pack-dependent. Once bonded, they couldn't be moved without being rendered useless. It made the Losers inseparable on paper as well as real life.

 **5.** Intimacy. Ear scritches. Hours and hours of absentminded petting. Belly rubs. Paw rubs. Neck ruffles. Puppy piles. It was a thousand kinds of awesome.

 

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> Written for _Whogeek_ who requested this at the Losers Halloween Fest on losers_fic.
> 
>  **Original Prompt:** _Cougar/Jensen, where one (preferably Jensen) gets turned into a werewolf, but somehow retains his human mind after transforming. Extra points for Jensen being possessive of Cougar/constantly seeking attention/being alpha'd by Clay/being easily distracted by squeaky-toys/balls/sticks. Super awesome points for it being from Jensen's POV._


End file.
